


Asset

by folkful



Series: Joar and Viraven being Nasty [9]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Corporal Punishment, Crying, Death Threats, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fantastic Racism, Fear Play, Gags, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Men Crying, Mild Blood, No Lube, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Past Rape/Non-con, Physical Abuse, Power Imbalance, Punishment, Threats of Violence, Verbal Abuse, anger issues, mild but there, oh no, only for the fingering part, though i imagine they want to comfort him very badly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:21:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29386944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/folkful/pseuds/folkful
Summary: The Dragonborn realises his orders have been disobeyed, and gives his first victim a taste of his rage.Part 1 of 2.
Relationships: Male Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Revyn Sadri, Malthyr Elenil/Ambarys Rendar
Series: Joar and Viraven being Nasty [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2057886
Comments: 54
Kudos: 12





	Asset

**Author's Note:**

> I truly am unable to leave this poor man alone.
> 
> I'm gonna throw a massive TW out there, because this is extremely fucked up on many levels, and there's a lot more verbal abuse than I normally put into these. Read the tags if you missed them, and stay safe. If this isn't your thing, please skip out on it. We'll both sleep sounder that way.
> 
> If this is your thing, however, come on in! We're back to the regularly scheduled hell-ride after my last chapter, which was pretty tame in comparison. You might want the context of my story "Tear Down the Walls", but I'm fairly sure it'll be at least 80% understandable without it.
> 
> Next up is going to be Malthyr and Ambarys' half of this very eventful night. But it might take a little longer than usual, since I have a lot of irl stuff happening that's kind of weighing on me, and means I have less time to write. I have been writing at every possible chance, to be honest (escapism - man's best friend), but most of it is plot-heavy and likely not that interesting to those reading this series, lol. 
> 
> Anyway, any thoughts or ideas are welcome, as always. Or just roast my bad writing. Your choice.

As a general rule, Joar's quick temper was more of a hindrance than an asset. But, as with every rule, there were exceptions.

For example, having to contain himself enough not to simply charge at the barkeep Ambarys Rendar when he, through characteristic threats, made it very clear to Joar that he knew of his and Sadri's encounter in Hjerim, it was definitely a hindrance.

But the night that followed, rage was an asset.

He'd spent the better part of the afternoon and the evening letting this new situation brew, trying to think of how to handle it, how to put a stop to further disobedience. He'd made it so very clear that the merchant was not to tell anyone, and frankly, he had not expected this to happen.

Rendar had already known, sure, and Elenil must have known by extension, but it wasn't about that, not really. Joar had been certain he had the elf, that he would not muster the courage to go against him in any way. If Sadri could do this and get away with it, he could do other things, and Joar didn't fancy the idea of a case in the court, even though he was certain he would win.

He could always take the stolen ring to Giordano, or hand it to the city guards. But the Jarl and the heads of the guard punished gray-skins mercilessly, and he had an inkling Giordano might spur them on. He didn't particularly appreciate the thought of the merchant losing a hand. His hands were useful. He would have just ordered a proper, public whipping, or time in jail, but he had little involvement in this, and he wanted to be certain.

He didn't want to kill the elf, either, at least not until he was used up and boring. And he needed to deal with the other two, as well. So he decided he would wait until late into the night, when the Cornerclub was closed, when no one would see him coming. 

If Sadri so badly wanted them to know what had been done to him, Joar may as well show them, too. And if Rendar wanted to interfere in what Joar did with others, he could take the pain instead. They needed to be put back in their places, all of them.

Of course, to spend his night with three and not one would take some additional work. He'd gathered a few of the potions he hadn't gotten the time to sell, ones that supposedly worked to replenish stamina. If he decided he wanted to take them properly, he would most likely need them.

The sun abandoned Windhelm early, and when Joar set out toward the Gray Quarter after giving Calder some excuse about Candlehearth Hall, the sky had gone so pitch black that he took a lantern with him. His mood was neither forgiving nor patient, and he wanted to take Sadri by surprise, just as he had the first time. There would be no more chances, no mercy.

The last time he had knocked, but this time he simply fished out the key he'd taken, unlocking the door and opening it with enough force that the hinges creaked.

The merchant was not asleep, as he had expected, but instead seemed to have been updating a ledger before the Nord arrived, standing at his counter. When the door swung open and he stepped inside, though, he jolted, taking a step back, in the pang of fear spilling some of the dark ink onto the pages. Joar closed the distance between them quickly, grabbing the elf by the throat and pushing him against the wall hard. His pale eyes were alight with anger, and Sadri looked up at him in true fear, the fear of death he'd seen on the battlefield so many times.

"I made one thing very, very clear the first time, didn't I?"

The merchant seemed to shrink under his gaze, clearly disoriented and confused.

"I-I - what-"

"You know very well what I'm talking about. No honor at all in this place, is there? I told you to keep quiet, and I took the ring from you to enforce that, didn't I?" Joar barely put effort into keeping his voice down, and the vitriol of the last words made Sadri flinch. His hands, hovering awkwardly in the instinct to protect himself, were shaking. The realisation had hit him, and he looked ashamed. Ashamed and terrified. He nodded silently.

"Why'd you disobey me, then?" Joar's grip on the elf's throat hardened. "Do I really need to keep my eye on you at all times? Are you that much of a nuisance? Because if so, I don't think you're worth the hassle."

The threat was not stated outright, but Sadri caught it.

"No, I-I just, I didn't...didn't want to be alone." He took a shaky breath. "Sera, I could barely walk."

So he hadn't even waited, only gone straight from Hjerim to the Cornerclub. How audacious.

"Well, then, I guess I'd have to make sure you aren't  _ alone _ this time, huh? Would that make things easier for you?" Joar's voice was harsh, and he was holding Sadri against the wall so hard that he nearly choked. The merchant looked at him, eyes questioning and full of trepidation. The Nord reached for his belt, drawing a recently sharpened, enchanted dagger. The fire crackling along the metal blade made it glow softly against the dark. Sadri's gaze was on it, eyes wide and glittering.

"Serjo, please - forgive me, don't do this, I'll never-"

"Shut your mouth, gray-skin." Joar let go of his neck and slapped him. "I won't kill you as long as you obey my orders tonight."

Sadri nodded, whispering little messages of gratitude. The Nord rolled his eyes, and took the elf by his slim upper arm.

"Then come with me." He pulled the merchant toward the door, and once Sadri found his footing, he followed without complaint. When they left the pawn shop behind, though, he spoke up.

"Where are we going? Are we...going to your home again?"

The Nord did not answer, even if the merchant was clearly worried. Instead, he took him only one door down the street, to the Cornerclub. There, he stopped, and Revyn Sadri gave him a pleading look.

"Don't hurt them,  _ please…" _

Joar grabbed him by the hair. "You should've thought of that before you went and involved them. This is on your hands, not mine."

"Anything else, I beg of you-"

"You're going to knock," Joar hissed, twisting his grip on Sadri's hair, "and if they ask questions first, you answer them. Is that understood?"

"Yes, y-yes!"

He released him enough that he could knock on the door to the Cornerclub, hesitantly, much like he had in Hjerim. But the gray-skins slept on the third floor, and there was no way they'd hear it. He settled the tip of the blade against the merchant's back, between ribs, and the elf gave him a frantic, terrified look. Then, he seemed to understand, and knocked once more, harder this time. 

It should be enough, and so Joar pulled him back again, keeping his shivering body in front of his own, Sadri's back pressed against him. He held the edge of the blade near the merchant's throat, but could not keep it as close as he'd have liked with how the cold made the elf shake. It would not do to slice his neck open by accident.

There was silence, and then he heard movement from inside, the descent of stairs. He heard someone halt right outside of the door, and then a voice, distinctly Elenil's.

"Who is it?"

There was a slight suspicion there, and he had clearly just been roused from sleep. Sadri took a breath, trying to calm himself. When he spoke, he still sounded very, very small.

"M-Malthyr, it…" It seemed he did not know where he was going with it, so he went quiet.

There was another moment of quiet, and then Malthyr Elenil, too sharp for his own good, began to speak in Dunmeris. It sounded like a question, and Joar would not give Sadri an opportunity to answer, so he interrupted him.

"You will let us in, or I'll cut his throat and leave him out here. Do you want to clean his life-blood off your doorstep?"

He heard the elf shout for Rendar. Then, the lock clicked, and Elenil opened the door for the Nord, taking a step back and letting him in. His face was set in worry, and his hair was slightly ruffled.

"Whatever it is you want, you don't need to kill for it." Joar was impressed at how calm the gray-skin kept his voice, trying to mediate. Perhaps he had underestimated this one. "We can figure something out, just please, put down the knife."

Joar did not put down the knife, but he did close and lock the door behind him.

He heard rapid steps down the stairs, and then Rendar came into view. He looked like he had been asleep, too, hair loose and mildly damp-looking, as though it had been washed. He carried the same rusted knife that he'd tried to threaten Joar with when he had humbled him, but at the last steps, he came to an abrupt halt, glaring at the Nord. Joar tightened his grip on Sadri's hair enough that he let out a low whine, holding the blade close enough to his throat that he surely felt the heat of the enchantment against his skin.

"Drop that," said Joar, gesturing at Rendar's own weapon. "And get down here."

Ambarys Rendar, either stubborn or stupid, stayed where he was for a moment, gripping the knife still. What saved him from causing great harm to his neighbor turned out to be Elenil, who turned to him and nodded, telling him to "do as he says". Sensing that the other two had no way to hold their own, Rendar let the weapon clatter to the ground, taking the last bit of stairs slowly. He went to say something, but his assistant interrupted before he could.

"What do you want us to do?", he asked, clearly bartering in some way, trying to get the three of them through this unharmed. Joar leant in close to Sadri's ear.

"I'm here to teach a lesson. Why don't you tell them, gray-skin?"

The merchant drew a shuddering breath, the night's first tears making their way down his face.

"I-I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come to you…" His voice was quiet, and he was mumbling in panic, conscience weighing on him already.

"Must I do everything myself?" Joar sighed. "You disobeyed me by coming here after I finished with you, yes?"

"Yes…"

"Exactly. So now I'll have to deal with all three of you."

By now, Elenil looked horrified, furious, but none of it was directed at Sadri. He seemed like he wanted to say something that he couldn't muster the will to say. Rendar was uncharacteristically quiet. Perhaps he realised that if it wasn't for his outburst earlier in the day, Joar would not have known.

"Kneel, both of you, and I'll drop my hold on Sadri. I'd advise you not to test me. Either way, you'll all be in pain tonight, but you can spare yourselves true damage."

Elenil did so immediately, gingerly dropping to his knees, hands against the uneven wooden floor. Rendar followed after a few seconds, refusing to look at the Nord. True to his word, this time, Joar let go of the merchant's hair. He lowered his sword-arm, the hand holding the knife. Sadri was shaking again, more with anxiety than with cold. Joar shoved him mildly toward the other two, sneering.

"You too. Get down."

The elf obeyed, kneeling next to Elenil, again murmuring something that Joar did not quite hear. The Nord stripped and tied them methodically, beginning with Ambarys Rendar. He was refusing to meet Joar's eye directly, but if looks could kill, the Nord would have gone back to Sovngarde too early. Rendar was wearing a thin, brown shirt and flimsy trousers, and Joar pinched his lean, gray thigh once he'd bared it, making the barkeep hiss in pain. He tied his hands together, then his ankles, and when he moved to Elenil, the elf had one hand on Sadri's shoulder, trying to offer him silent consolation. He wrenched the elf's arm away, removing his clothing and tying him the same way he had tied his partner. He remained quiet, but he was tense, clearly overran by nerves.

Revyn Sadri was quiet, too, trying to even his breathing. He had not even gotten the time to switch into sleep-clothes, still dressed for work, and Joar decided he would give him the kindness of not ruining what was probably his most decent garments. The merchant was avoiding looking at his neighbors' unclothed bodies, even though it would likely just have been easier to accept the view. The Nord had stripped this one several times already, and his body was familiar. Tall, lanky, knees and elbows sharp and knobbly.

As he revealed the skin of Sadri's back, he ran his fingers over the raised welt left behind by the brand. It had been nine days since he'd marked him, and it was obvious the merchant had at least obeyed his order not to unnaturally heal it. Sadri's cheeks burned scarlet with the shame of being exposed in front of the other three.

Joar did not tie him, at least not yet. The merchant would be the first to be punished. He re-took the knife, still faintly glowing, setting the point of it underneath Sadri's chin.

"You remember what I told you, right?", he asked. "Do as I say, or I'll slit your neck open  _ slowly. _ "

The merchant whimpered, raising his head up to avoid the blade. Joar let him, for the moment, looking him up and down, loving the fear in his eyes, the redness around them. Tonight, that fact only angered him. Sadri deserved the fear. He deserved worse. And he definitely did not deserve to have this effect on Joar, to allure him the way he did. Unbecoming. Useless, all of them.

"By Talos," he growled, not bothering to hide his rage. Asset, this time, not hindrance. "I hate you more than anyone else in this shithole."

He took a few breaths, watching Sadri's expression go between fear and confusion. Then, with more intent than he could remember ever giving the merchant before, he struck him across the face so viciously that when the elf looked back at him, struggling to contain his noises of pain, a trail of blood made its way from his nostril to his lips. Sadri noticed, too, his hands coming up to his face, sniffling. Joar crouched down in front of him, feeling at least a little bit vindicated.

Ambarys Rendar struggled with the ropes around his wrists, swearing with increasing volume. When Joar caught his eye, he yelled.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" The barkeep's face was set in anger, a very different kind than he usually reserved for irritating customers or Stormcloak guards. Not his bitter, pent-up anger, but true hatred. Joar stared back at him, eyes cold.

"Shut up, gray-skin, or I'll make you shut up."

"I don't care what you do to me, I swear I'm gonna find a way to end you, Dragonborn or not-"

Joar stood, gripping a handful of Elenil's surprisingly soft gray hair.

"I said  _ shut up. _ "

"Ambarys, please." Rendar's assistant tried to maintain eye-contact with him. "This is - you're making it worse."

The barkeep bit the inside of his cheek, silenced by the threat to his partner. Well beyond tired of him, Joar found a long leather strip in his pack, unkindly holding Rendar still as he effectively used it as an improvised gag, tying it at the back of the elf's head. Then, he returned to Sadri.

He manhandled him to another spot, across from Rendar and Elenil, so that they were in view of each other. Wanting an outlet for his anger at being interrupted, he took off his belt, the same one he'd used to discipline the false priest outside of Dawnstar. He folded it once, thinking for a second before turning it to the side he'd usually have held, so that the iron buckle was facing out. Then, mind white-hot, he laid five stripes across the tops of Sadri's thighs, exposed with the way he'd folded his legs under him. The elf choked back a scream, barely managing to stay in place, and when Joar's head returned to him, he saw the buckle had left little cuts at the edge of the welts, as he'd intended. Calmer now, he threw the belt aside, quickly looking over the five even wounds. Bleeding, but not badly. They'd heal on their own.

He moved Sadri again, this time from sitting to on all fours. The elf did not resist him, still regaining himself after the sudden bursts of pain. Joar pulled his shirt over his head, and removed his low boots.

He had never tried fingering without oil or at least saliva, mostly because it was ineffective once you got to fucking someone. But this wasn't just his regular pastimes, this was a punishment. And so he laid one hand on Sadri's upper back, pushing him down. Then, without any further preparation, he began to insert his pointer finger into the elf.

The resistance was immense in comparison, but he did not stop, though the merchant was whining and shaking and trying in vain to escape it. He was putting his weight on his knees, but as Joar's finger reached deeper, he acted like the digit was a blade, trying to protect himself from it, almost dropping to the floor entirely. The Nord put two fingers from his other hand against the still-sore mark left by the brand, pressing down hard, eliciting harsh sobs from the elf. Then, he added another digit inside his tight ass, forcing it in, pushing past the ring of muscle. He stretched him with twisting motions, doing his utmost to make sure it hurt, that it hurt  _ badly. _ And pain was one of his talents, evidenced so clearly when Sadri, unable to find other purchase, jolted and gripped both fistfuls of his own wild hair, making pitiful little cornered-animal sounds against the floorboards. He was doing an impressive job suppressing the sobs that rattled his slight frame. Perhaps he was better with containing it when there was an audience. Joar would crack him eventually.

The audience, as it were, were looking away. Elenil's jaw was clenched, and Joar thought momentarily that he might be the first of the three to cry, simply from the sight of Sadri's own violation. Rendar only glowered.

The third finger made the elf groan through his teeth, and the resistance of his flesh was immense, so much so that Joar's much larger fingers barely fit right. For much the first time, he thought he might accidentally split the skin. But weak as the merchant was, bodies were more resilient than they often got credit for. There was no sudden tear, no flow of blood, only Sadri's rim stretched painfully thin. When the Nord began to move all three fingers at once, he finally got unabashed tears.

Not looking to make it anything but harder on the gray-skin, he laid harsh smacks to his bony ass and thighs, getting little whines for the effort. He might have impulsively added a fourth finger, but he was pushing his luck with the stretch already, so he removed them slowly instead, watching Sadri's insides pull on them, as if he wanted to keep him inside. The elf shuddered as the digits exited him, his hole open even now that he was empty.

"Do you think I could fuck you dry without tearing you open like a gutted fish?"

He did not plan to try, only because it would bring pain upon himself, too. But Sadri's terror was earned, likely not knowing, even now that he was being acquainted with taking cock.

"Do you want my mercy, gray-skin?"

Sadri nodded, the back of his neck turning red.

"I can't hear you."

"Y-yeah…" He was very quiet, and Joar could hear tears in his voice. "Please…"

"And do you deserve it?"

Sadri's shoulders tensed, sensing the trap in the question. He was quiet for a few moments too long, and Joar smacked him again.

"Do you?", he repeated, forceful.

"No, n-no, I don't, but I - I can't take that…"

The merchant's hands were still lodged firmly in his hair, and he looked almost more vulnerable than Joar had seen him before. Just as well, because that only meant the punishment was sticking.

"When I fuck you, you keep it to yourself." He gripped Sadri's hip harshly. "No one needs to know. And when I give you a rule, you follow it.."

"I will, I-I will…"

Rendar looked like he wanted to speak, but he had the gag too tightly tied to get any words out. Joar shot him a look of warning.

"I'll let you have it easier than you deserve. Ensure it does not get to your head."

He took the oil vial, coating only his cock in a thin layer of it, but leaving the elf's hole dry. If the stretch of his fingers was not enough, that was not Joar's problem. He stroked the thick organ into full hardness, breathing heavily, his other hand still holding Sadri's hip, digging into the meager flesh. And he truly was a  _ meager  _ thing, in every way, a kind of it Joar had never seen in a Nord, even one living poorly like Sadri did.

When he began to push his cock into the merchant, he mewled, frantically tapping one of his feet against the floor, clearly thoughtlessly.

"Give me your hands." 

The elf gave a low, gravelly, begging moan.

"Now."

Sadri reluctantly let go of his hair, reaching back, violently shaking. Joar took his hands in each of his own, pulling his shoulders and torso painfully up by his arms. He could hold onto the elf's thin wrists easily, using them as leverage to pull him onto his cock. Sadri was heaving and sniffling, head down despite the way Joar had raised his upper body. The Nord set a brutal pace immediately, and Sadri screamed through his throat, trying to keep it down, knowing it would make Joar angry if he was too loud. The position was strenuous in every way, likely hurting both inside and out. Joar was much larger and stronger than he was, and his cock was a tight fit, something he himself took pleasure in. His movements were harsh, jabbing, and Sadri could not help tensing up, making his entrance even tighter. Every now and then, he would make an honest attempt to go limp and ease the pressure, but the pain in his shoulders would not let him. He was crying in a way that would have been gut-wrenching, coming from anyone else, but the Nord had not yet forgiven him. He had brought this pain on himself. He would learn this lesson in the burn of his insides, in the ruination of his already rocky self-image, like the planks left from the old shipwrecks littering the coastline in the north. Gone all but for the little traces left behind, proving they were once there.

Their unwilling audience was yet quiet, but no matter how much they looked away, they could not escape the sounds of flesh beating flesh, of hoarse cries. Joar did not regard them, occupied with the merchant, admiring the view of his back, the mark he'd left on it. As it had during the interrogation, reality seemed slow, as though time was going at half its speed. 

Unlike his surroundings, Joar's peak hit him quickly, suddenly, almost catching him off-guard. As he came, he pulled on Sadri's wrists hard, until the elf gathered what little remained of his strength and moved back to lessen the strain. Sadri's back hit his chest, and he winced at the impact. The Nord held him there, biting into his shoulder to be quiet, continuing to move inside of him until the sensitivity was too much to handle. Only then did he fully take in the scene in front of him. 

Sadri's breathing was shallow, like he was about to pass out. The new grooves of Joar's teeth were deep, but had only provoked a little bead of blood. He was still trying to loosen himself against the agony of the Nord penetrating him, and he was still failing. His hair was a chaotic mess, sticking out every which way after being gripped like a lifeline. He looked...sufficiently apologetic. A wreck, as always. As he held him there, Joar could hear whispered words between the sobs, as wrecked as the rest of him.

"What was that?"

"N-need, need to breathe," he managed before choking on a cough. "Let - please, c-can you let me up-"

He was working himself up again, but still trying hard to be polite. Temporarily sated, Joar dropped the elf's arms, watching them drop like dead weights. When he unsheathed his cock from Sadri's ass, he moved and pressed his back against the wall, almost feral. 

_ Prey,  _ thought the Nord.

Sadri was still trying to get enough air, arms wrapped around himself even though they must be numb. His face was streaked with tears, lips trembling, each exhale pulling sound from his vocal chords, entirely out of his own control. Finally, he settled, trying to stabilise, but still embracing himself.

"Sera…" A tremor went through his body. "It's t-too cold, I...I'm sorry for asking so much, forgive me, p-please, I just want my shirt."

"I'll tell you what." Joar gestured at the other side of the room, where his coat lay. "If you can  _ walk _ the distance, I'll let you borrow that until I'm done here. It's warmer."

Sadri's brow furrowed, and Joar simply stared at him. They both knew that in his current state, there was no way the elf could do it. Crawl, perhaps, but the Nord had made the distinction clear for a reason. 

Prey though he was, desperation won, and Sadri tried to stand, bracing almost his whole weight against the wall. He bit down on the inside of his cheek to keep going, even though his legs shook. 

He managed three steps before sinking to his knees, once more dissolving into inconsolable sobbing.

And that was where Joar left him for the moment, turning his attention on the residents of the Cornerclub.

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly though the idea of Revyn showing up knocking on their door in the middle of the night after being assaulted and branded is kind of heartbreaking and I'm not sure how to feel


End file.
